


The Purpose of a Monado

by sneep



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: AU where I give the swords sentience, Gen, Illustrated, Oneshot, Other, This has been sitting on my plate for an actual year, heavy spoilers obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneep/pseuds/sneep
Summary: Once upon a time, the Silver God decided to give her monado a soul.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	1. The Purpose of a Monado

Once upon a time, the Silver God decided to give her monado a soul.

The Golden God had already done so, on a whim. He spoke of loneliness, of how his disciples came and went, and how he desired a more constant companion; and what better than the blade he always carried at his side?

Though that was merely the form he preferred. Monados could be shaped to their God’s whim at will, of course. This made the task of giving them consciousness even easier.

And so Meyneth, the Silver God, held her twin blades in her hands, joining them into one great sword. She called upon her ability to twist reality, tugging upon the strands of fate and imposing her will into physicality, watching as ether gathered around her and her monado. And then her great work was done.

  


  


Before her kneeled a person, human in form, with glinting gray skin and shining black hair. They turned their eyes up to her, and they burned a deep red. In those eyes the Silver God saw an undying loyalty that would never fade.

She smiled, and bid her creation to rise.

“My Lady,” said Monado, taking her hand, “I am yours to command. Bid me do whatever you please.”

For this was the purpose of a monado.

“My friend,” replied Meyneth, “What is it that you would like to do?”

This gave Monado pause. They realized they knew nothing other than that this was their God, and that they could not disobey her. The world was a great mystery. Their own self, a blank slate.

“I do not understand,” they said. “I do not know.”

Meyneth nodded.

“I will show you the world we have made, and teach you what I can. And then you can decide.”

Monado nodded, and followed her.

* * *

Time passed. Monado met all the people of the world, and learned their ways. They wandered the lands their God had created, and saw that they were beautiful; mossy and metallic and lucid. Twin suns rose above the horizon. Monado enjoyed watching them rise every morning. They could not help thinking of themself and Meyneth, reflected in those two suns.

Long hours were spent talking with Meyneth. Monado had many questions.

“My Lady,” they asked, “Why do the people of this land look like us? Why have you created them this way?”

“Why should they not, Monado?” Meyneth replied.

“The animals and the plants do not look like us. Nor do the machines the people create. But even the people of the Golden God’s lands look like us, though they were created by someone else.”

This question struck Meyneth in her heart. She turned her head to the suns, thinking to herself. These were difficult thoughts, of deep regret and of a time long past, so it took some time for her to reply.

“Perhaps we try to replicate the people of the place where we came from.”

“Where you came from?” asked Monado. But they regretted the question, for they could sense a deep sadness coming from their god. And on the edge of their awareness were memories of fire and destruction from long ago.

“It was a place long in the past. It hardly matters anymore; it does not exist now.”

“Were you gods there?”

“No,” Meyneth said. “We were only people.”

Monado considered this for a long time, and did not ask further questions.

The Golden God came to visit the two now and again, and they in return visited the Golden God. His lands were golden and sandy, spotted with lush green. Monado learned about the people there as well. They did not build beautiful machines as Meyneth’s people did; instead, they made sculptures of twisting glass.

At Zanza the Golden God’s side, Monado saw another like themself, clad in red with resplendent blue eyes. The two monados considered each other carefully, trying to pay attention to their Gods’ words. But their curiosity could not be restrained.

The two gods dismissed their creations, so they could talk in peace. And so the two monados went to wander the sand.

“I am Monado!” said Zanza’s monado proudly. They ruffled the shining wings that sat upon their back, glinting in the sunlight.

“And I am Monado,” said Meyneth’s monado humbly, crossing their arms to show the black markings that ran down them.

  


They walked in silence for a time, digesting this.

“It will be hard to talk to each other, if we have the same name,” Meyneth’s monado considered.

“Hm,” replied Zanza’s monado. “To be honest, I am not sure what we would talk about. Perhaps I could tell you of Lord Zanza’s many great deeds, if you would listen.”

The other monado, eager to hear of new things, agreed.

Zanza’s deeds were many, and so were his disciples. His people had erected great temples in his honor, and he extended the lives of his most devoted so that they might live many years. He brought water to the desert, allowing the people to live, and showed them where they might quarry stone and farm food.

“These things are indeed great,” said Meyneth’s monado. “Lady Meyneth’s deeds are humbler, but no less lacking in greatness.”

“I do not understand. How can lesser actions be great?”

Meyneth’s monado thought for a moment. “The people still prosper, and create beautiful things. They make small shrines to Lady Meyneth, intricate in craft, and take pride in them. If they take care of themselves, they might live many years on their own. If the people are happy, is that not great?”

“That cannot be as important as the greatness of Lord Zanza!” Zanza’s monado cried, indignant.

Meyneth’s monado was unsettled by this thought. It was true that there was nothing more important to them than Lady Meyneth. But what kind of  _ greatness _ was more important? Greatness of the people, or of the God?

“I am afraid I do not know,” they said. “I only know what Lady Meyneth has shown me.”

“And I only know what Lord Zanza has shown me.”

The two looked into each others’ eyes, and then realized that they were the same, and that there were no others like themselves in the world.

They talked awhile longer, of the things they had seen, and of the cultures of their people. But soon enough, deep in their souls, they felt their Gods call them back.

“I think I would like it if we could meet again,” one said to the other.

“I agree,” they replied.

And so they began to talk, each time their gods met.

* * *

And soon enough, it was time for the world to end.

Both of their lands were beginning to decay; the flow of ether began to run dry. Meyneth’s people spoke of a plague of rust beginning to spread, and Zanza’s cried out for water.

The monados knew in their bones that it was time. On the appointed day, they shifted back into shining swords; this was as natural to them as breathing, for it was their purpose as well. They were beings of ether, designed to breathe and manipulate it for their gods’ will.

The two gods took their monados in hand; and met the Administer.

The two monados felt something thrum through themselves at the sight of it. A being more born in ether than even them; a being that  _ was _ the ether,  _ was _ the very world they had walked. And they understood.

Zanza said unto the Administer, “Remake the world!” for as a god, it was his right. And so it was.

The people cried out in fear and relief as they vanished into ether.

Meyneth said unto the Administer, “I must reshape the world,” for as a god, she had no choice. And so it was.

And another cry rose from the land, as the last of it was unmade.

The new world they made was different. Zanza created a tall mountain, and a palace for himself at the top; Meyneth made a shining canyon, with a river running through the bottom. And they created people to inhabit their lands, and instructed them in the ways of the world. They inhabited two of these people as vessels, and reshaped their appearances to suit their needs.

To the new people in Meyneth’s land, names were very important. They had long names that wound and meandered like the river, growing as they grew older and collected experiences. Meyneth enjoyed this a great deal, taking great pains to record the many names she and Monado collected.

One day, Meyneth looked down at Monado. “I think it is time I gave you a name myself.”

Monado looked at her questioningly. “My name is Monado. That is what you have said.”

Meyneth chuckled.

“That is true. But there is another, is there not? Perhaps a nickname is what I mean. To distinguish you. You are your own person, after all.”

Monado confessed that talking to the other like itself was sometimes difficult, when they had the same name. At this, Meyneth chuckled again.

“I will call you ‘Gladius’. In an old language of my homeland, it means ‘sword’.” A simple, uncomplicated name. Meyneth had never been all that good at them.

Gladius smiled. They quite liked their name, because Meyneth had given it to them. It held this name close to their heart, along with their most precious memories of their God.

At their next meeting, Gladius excitedly told the other monado of their new name.

“My own nickname would make things simpler,” Zanza’s monado thought out loud. “And… the honor of being bestowed a name by Lord Zanza would be great. As if I would let anyone else name me.”

Both laughed. It was true.

“There can’t be any harm in asking for a name,” Gladius replied. “It would be nice to have something else to call you.”

“Oh, to  _ ask _ Lord Zanza for—how bold! I don’t know if I could…” his monado fretted.

“Zanza is very proud. He might consider naming you exciting.”

Zanza’s monado looked at Gladius thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” To Gladius, they still looked nervous. They did their best to be encouraging.

And so, later, when they had worked up the courage, Zanza’s monado approached their master in his opulent chamber.

“My Lord.” They kneeled before him. “I would ask of you a small favor, if you are feeling most indulgent upon me.”

Zanza, in a good mood from a day of worship, was curious. In all the aeons of its existence, Monado had never asked him for a single thing.

“Go on, then. Speak, Monado. Ask of me this favor.” He leaned back on his throne, hand to his chin.

“My Lord, I would like… a name of my own.”

Zanza frowned. “What do you need a name for? Your name is Monado.”

“Indeed, Lord Zanza… but there is another named Monado. How may we be distinguished otherwise?” They asked carefully.

The god grumbled to himself for a minute. Monado did have a point. Of course he would want to do something different than Meyneth. Though he couldn’t make the name  _ too _ different from “Monado”… it was quite a nice name. But the name must encapsulate what Monado  _ was _ … hm.

“Come back tomorrow,” Lord Zanza decreed. “I need time to think. You shall have your name.”

“Oh, thank you so much, My Lord!” Monado was ecstatic. They strutted around the palace with their head high and their chest puffed out, to the amusement of the priests and servants.

The following day, Monado stood before Lord Zanza, waiting excitedly for their name.

“You shall be called ‘Monde’. In an old language of times long past, it means ‘world’; for you, in my hand, control the flow of the world.”

Monde stood in reverence, absorbing their name.  _ Monde _ . It was lovely. Perfect. For was anything Lord Zanza created any less than perfect?

At their next meeting, they strutted up to Gladius, proudly announcing their new name.

Gladius simply smiled. “It’s nice. I like it.”

Monde felt ether rush into its face. “Thank you… for convincing me to ask for one.”

They stood for some time.

“I quite like your name as well,” Monde admitted.

“Thank you. I thought you would find it too simple.”

“Maybe for me. But you are simple. It suits.”

Gladius raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” they sniped. But mirth was in their eyes, and both monados laughed.

“How goes your people?” Monde asked. “Ours don’t come up the mountain often. They consider it a test of strength.”

“The city at the bottom of the canyon has gotten bigger. They carve dwellings into the cliffs now; there is a great statue of Meyneth there as well. Other cities have been popping up along the river, and there is one atop the canyon. They have expressed interest in learning to build machines.”

“I see,” Monde said thoughtfully. “And you will teach them.”

“Myself, and Meyneth.”

Monde paused.

“Our people have great mines of iron, tin, and ether. From what you have told me, your people will need all three.”

“Yes. I believe Lady Meyneth will bring this up with Lord Zanza.”

Monde nodded. Matters between the gods were not brought up between them so directly anymore. This must be especially important.

“Then here is to hoping for another grand deed from our gods.”

“Indeed. If all goes well, the people will flourish.”

The matter was not settled in one day.

The two monados returned to a heated argument between their masters. Disagreement over some minutia of trade, or perhaps of governance; or perhaps of a few even lesser things. The four left unsettled.

“My lady, is everything alright?” Gladius asked with concern.

“It will be. We merely got caught up in things this time,” Meyneth reassured. “Zanza is simply not as eager to pursue this as I. It is true this arrangement might not benefit him as much.” She smiled down at Gladius like always. “We will return next time with clearer heads.”

Gladius nodded. If Lady Meyneth said it would be alright, then it would be alright.

* * *

The world ended sooner, this time. Avalanches plagued the mountain, and the walls of the canyon began to crumble. And it was time.

The two monados were once again awed at the power of the Administer even as their gods ordered it around. This time, they even had a brief moment to talk to it.

“Administer,” Gladius asked. “Do you have a name?”

The two monados could feel it smiling, even though it did not have a mouth.

“Alvis,” it said. “Thank you.”

They bowed, though at that moment, they did not have bodies capable of bowing.

“I am Monde,” said Monde.

“And I am Gladius,” said Gladius.

“I know,” Alvis replied.

* * *

The new world was two small planets that orbited in tandem with one another, connected by a great tree that ran between them. Zanza built his palace at the center of his planet, and let his people develop as they pleased. Meyneth taught her people to build machines, as she always did, once again with Gladius’ help.

“Why do we do this?” Gladius asked. They sat beneath the stars, affixing gearwork into place. The ground was a patchwork of metal and stone.

“I like machines,” Meyneth said simply. There was a faraway look in her eye. “Would you like to do something else?”

“I do not know,” Gladius replied solemnly. “But I enjoy this, with you. The things you create are wonderful.”

Meyneth laughed, a clear bell-like sound. It was beautiful.

“It has been so long, but you still don’t know what you want.”

Time passed.

One day, Gladius asked Monde if they wanted anything.

“To serve Lord Zanza, of course!” They replied without hesitation.

“But that is our purpose, as monados. What about other than that?”

“Perhaps… to continue talking with you, now and again.”

Gladius smiled, for this was a kind thing to say. But it was still not what they had meant by the question.

“Lady Meyneth often asks me if there is anything I would like to do myself. A purpose of my own, beyond my duty.”

“Beyond your duty…” Monde considered, mulling it over. “No, I think I am satisfied with my duty. If Lord Zanza were to ask the same question—perish the thought—that is how I would reply. Being a monado is… simply enough on its own.”

Gladius nodded. They felt similarly, or so they thought. But being asked that question had placed a nagging doubt.

Perhaps…

They swiftly changed the subject.

“These latest agreements have been difficult,” Gladius started.

“Yes. Meyneth is still not happy with letting Zanza’s people harvest from the Yggdrasil. ‘If the planets split, this world will not exist for long after,’ she says. Frankly, I don’t see the problem.”

“This world is beautiful. It would be a shame to see it go so soon.”

Monde shrugged. “Be that as it may. We do not alter the passage of fate for one trifle. Lord Zanza does not feel any need. ‘If our people hasten their demise, that is their own fault’. That is what he said to me.”

Meyneth managed to convince Zanza to intervene, but the damage had been done. The Yggdrasil withered, and they had to remake the world much sooner than before.

* * *

Many worlds passed before Monde and Gladius’s eyes, each beautiful in its own way. As she taught the people, Meyneth’s skill with machines grew. Fine gears smaller than the eye could see; ether furnaces that put out three times what you put in; animal-like constructs that slipped and flowed as smoothly as one of Zanza’s biological creations. Though she was a god, and could simply imagine these things into being, she preferred building them with her own hands.

Zanza watched over his people less and less. He rose up now and again among them to take a vessel; this kept them pious. But Meyneth could see he was growing bored. It was getting harder to negotiate with him. His disciples came and went as he gained and lost interest in them.

Gladius stopped counting the worlds. Stopped trying to keep track of time. Many of them faded into the back of their memory.

Such was immortality.

Monde was a welcome constant. They explored their abilities as monados; talked of the developments of their worlds; and mentioned now and again the doings of their gods. They sparred together. While Monde was powerful and bold, Gladius was quick and clever. They did not spend many hours testing their power as Monde did. But Gladius learned the martial arts the people invented, analyzed their tactics. Monde would best them in a fight, and Gladius would best them at a game of strategy.

It was such that Meyneth noticed. Her people were not often warlike, but Zanza’s ended up in squabbles more than once. She watched with interest as Gladius observed these battles with a calculating eye.

“My lady,” Gladius commented once. “I think he is making them warlike on purpose.”

Meyneth looked at them sadly. “I had considered it, but…”

“It is simply not normal for people to kill each other over cabbages. There is plenty of food. Such a land dispute would not have raised a storm like this in past iterations.”

Meyneth was quiet.

“There is not much I can do about it. How Zanza creates is his own business.”

It was true, as far as Gladius knew.

The trend was sure to continue, Gladius thought. And eventually, Zanza’s people might set their sights on Meyneth’s. So she began to push them to build towns and cities in defensible locations. Develop machines that could be used as weapons. Taught them games of strategy.

And so when the first tragedy struck, they were prepared.

Zanza and Meyneth could negotiate no longer. Their people fought tooth and claw. Because of Gladius’s intervention, it wasn’t a slaughter. But the war dragged on.

Meyneth begged Zanza to do something. But his only reply was, “remake the world”.

And so they remade the world.

Again, and again, and again.

* * *

After long enough, even Zanza grew tired of it. And so finally, he gave in to Meyneth’s demands for peace. His people no longer killed over mere cabbages.

But the worlds kept dying faster. And Meyneth could not convince him to let the people live for one more day than he thought they deserved. Exhausted, Meyneth could only try her best to treasure the fleeting seconds she had with her people.

Finally, she begged him one last time to try to create something that would last.

He looked at her contemptuously.

“For what reason? Your entertainment? We can only live so long if we don’t consume the things we create. There’s no reason to delay it.”

The Silver God stood up straight, and steeled herself.

“Zanza, we can make a world that will entertain even you.” Her voice was hard. “I have an idea.”

He raised an eyebrow.

And agreed gleefully to her suggestion. This  _ would _ be interesting.

Monde and Gladius served their Gods without question. For this was their purpose.

* * *

And so the two great titans stood over the endless sea, hand in hand.

Even through all those years of strife, Monde and Gladius had continued to meet, now on their own time. Their gods could summon them instantly if they were needed, so there was no need to stay close by.

“Perhaps this world really will be calmer,” Monde said, bemused. “Lord Zanza seems very satisfied. Lady Meyneth does have some good ideas now and then.”

“I hope so,” Gladius replied. “It has been painful. I am much lonelier when I must lead our people in war, rather than help them build in peace. And then, when we must lose them so soon.”

Silence reigned between them.

“I admit,” Monde said very slowly, “Some of these worlds have been nice. I would have liked to have seen them for longer.”

Blue eyes met red.

Gladius spoke up softly. “Sometimes, when we remake the world, I can feel it through the ether that flows through us. The war and the peace; the triumph and the pain. As if the ether itself has memory. “

“I, as well.”

Clouds drifted across the sky where they sat; their favorite spot on the shoulder of the Bionis. In this new world, it had quickly become their meeting place.

“I hope that I have helped quell that loneliness,” Monde spoke up.

“Yes, you have.”

Both smiled to themselves. Indeed, the existence of a monado was lonely, and having another helped. But doubts ruled their minds even in this peaceful time.

“…If war breaks out again, I may be ordered against you,” Monde said.

“And I against you,” Gladius replied.

Each knew that if ordered to by their God, they would kill the other without hesitation. For this was the nature of a monado.

* * *

Meyneth’s new world was beautiful; her magnum opus. A great machine, intricately designed and painstakingly crafted. The combination of her skill and godly power had produced something that took Gladius’s breath away; they spent many hours wandering the halls and engine rooms of the Mechonis, watching it tick away with almost incomprehensible purpose. For this was Lady Meyneth’s great love.

Her people were beautiful, as well. The gentle Machina lived within the body of Meyneth’s creation, together with her. The Machina built even more intricate statues to their creator than civilizations past had. Agniratha, their capital, was decorated with them: Lady Meyneth’s smiling eyes and open arms could be found along many streets and open spaces. Meyneth had no need to take one of the Machina as a vessel; for she had created the Mechonis to be her vessel. A great living world, where she could always watch over her people.

One of them, a child, loved Meyneth with all his heart from a very young age. This was Egil, son of Miquol. Current leader of the Machina.

Egil appeared at the great shrine built in Lady Meyneth’s honor—where her soul entered and left the Mechonis—many times. He prayed to her often, left offerings frequently. He hung on to Meyneth’s every word. Followed her around quietly when she walked among her people.

His devotion could only be matched by one other.

Gladius watched him with interest. Perhaps they saw some of themself in him, in one so loyal to Meyneth. And often enough, Egil would come to the shrine and only find Gladius there.

“Where is Lady Meyneth?”

“She rests within the Mechonis. Her soul cannot be separated from it for long.”

Egil looked crestfallen. He shuffled his feet and frowned.

“You should go back into your growth pod. Otherwise you’ll end up stunted,” Gladius said with humor. As soon as he had learned to walk, he had to be thrown back into the device. He disliked floating around in it.

Egil stuck his tongue out at them. Gladius smiled.

“Why is it that you love My Lady so much? I see you here often.” It was a question they had pondered much, watching him.

“Uhm, well, she…” Egil’s face screwed up with the effort of thought, trying to grasp for words. Frustrated, he settled for waving his arms around indiscriminately. “Like that!”

Gladius nodded solemnly, for they understood what he meant. Their love for their god was not easy put into words, either.

“Would you like to wait for her here, with me? We could play a game.” The existence of a monado was lonely, and they had a fondness for this one with loyalty approaching the strength of their own. It would be best to keep an eye on him, anyhow. Miquol would worry otherwise.

Egil nodded vigorously. And so Gladius taught him his first game of strategy.

Time passed. The machina began to build machines; the Mechon. They assisted the machina in many ways, pulling carts and repairing things in places too dangerous for people to go. And they were weapons as well, for Gladius was wary. Though they worked together with Zanza’s people to produce great things, and to trade, the memory of strife past did not leave the monado’s mind.

Egil continued to come to the shrine, and Gladius watched over him. They taught him to build machines, beautiful and clever. And Egil used this knowledge to improve the mechon tenfold. They discussed philosophy, rhetoric, and science. Eventually, Gladius began to teach him the ways of tactics, and war. Of sieges and insurgencies. For they were still wary.

This unsettled Meyneth, for she wanted to believe her people could be gentle forever. But trusting in Gladius’s judgement, she allowed it to continue. Egil was intelligent and wise. He would not misuse his knowledge, or so Meyneth hoped.

And so Gladius and Egil quietly became the generals of the Mechon Army.

One day, Egil did not arrive at the shrine alone. Gladius waited there, as always, and watched the person walking with him with interest; it was one of Zanza’s people. A Giant.

“Gladius, this is Arglas. My friend. Arglas, this is Gladius. My… teacher.”

Gladius bowed to him. “Well met, Arglas. I am Gladius, monado of Lady Meyneth.”

Arglas returned the bow with a hand to his chest.

“It is an honor to meet you. Egil has told me much about you.”

“Has he, now?” Gladius quirked an eyebrow, smiling. They walked closer to the two: the Giant, and the Machina. The sight of them together gave them hope for the current world. And made them feel very short; for Egil’s growth had not been stunted after all, and the Giant was, naturally, a giant. Memories of the small child with so much love for Lady Meyneth filled their heart, and they wiped their eyes.

“You have grown so much, Egil. In many ways. I am very proud of you.”

Egil looked at the ground, embarrassed to be told such things in front of Arglas. Arglas laughed heartily, clapping his friend on the back. Egil stumbled forward slightly.

“Isn’t it funny that Miquol said the same thing? It seems that everyone here loves you very much. Though whether that is as much as I do remains to be seen.”

“Arglas,” Egil mumbled, blushing. But he was smiling.

Gladius sighed to themself as the two left, talking animatedly. They were going to miss this world when it was gone. It was a beautiful one.

They told as much to Monde as the two sat on the fields of the Shoulder. But the meeting was more solemn than usual; for their gods had begun to discuss matters between themselves once more.

“I will miss it as well, I think.” Monde mourned. “I have grown to love many of the creatures of the Bionis, as I have walked its paths. Though of course, not as much as I love Lord Zanza.”

Gladius nodded. Such was to be expected.

“The Mechonis is a beautiful place. I would take you there, and show you its paths as well.”

“And I would show you the Bionis.”

Their conversation paused, as the two looked out over the horizon, beyond the titans.

“Trouble is brewing again. I fear we will not be able to meet for a long time, this time.” Monde said what they were both thinking. For the discussions between the gods had been tense.

Gladius turned to look at Monde. And hoped beyond hope things would end well.

Both stood, and lingered upon each other’s eyes. Fumbled internally over what words could not express.

“Take care of yourself, Monde.” Gladius felt their heart sink as they said it.

“You too, Gladius.”

And so they turned away, and left each other.

* * *

On the day of the tragedy, Gladius and Egil sat in the shrine playing a game. They took turns placing stones on a grid, attempting to surround one another’s territory; Meyneth had taught it to Gladius long ago, saying it was a game from her homeland. Egil thought long and carefully before placing a stone. Gladius would simply take a deep breath, and frustrate him with their next move.

“Even after all these years, I still cannot best you,” Egil said with a chuckle.

“You have come close, this time,” Gladius replied. “Soon, you may begin to match me. I have not had someone like you to play with in a very long time.”

“You’re so sentimental. You sound just like my father—he’s always going on about things like that.”

Now it was Gladius’s turn to laugh.

“I’m much older than your father, you know. It’s probably him that sounds like me.”

Egil quirked an eyebrow, and leaned forward. “How old are you, anyway? I have thought the question improper to ask of Lady Meyneth.”

Gladius was struck by this question, for they could not answer. The sands of time had slipped through their fingers faster than they had realized.

“I…”

And at that moment, Meyneth made her appearance.

She emerged from the shrine in a hurry. It was an unusual sight, given her normal stately demeanor. She looked pale, and panicked. Her hands shook imperceptibly.

“My Lady…” Gladius trailed off.

“We must go to meet Zanza,” Meyneth simply said. But Gladius could not help but notice her eyes flicking to Egil for just a moment.

“Zanza?” Meyneth’s state of distress had not escaped Egil’s notice either. But she simply smiled. It was a false smile, meant to reassure. And it could not fool him.

“We will return shortly, Egil. I am sorry to disturb your game.”

“Think nothing of it, Lady Meyneth,” he replied, hiding his worry. And when god and monado had departed, he ran to confide in Arglas.

“Zanza has not appeared in aeons,” Arglas said. “Some do not even believe he exists. We giants have record of him, for we are closest to the Bionis of the races here. Our faith is strong.”

“I see,” Egil replied, and his worry deepened. Arglas noticed, and cupped Egil’s face in one hand.

“There is no use fretting over the workings of gods. What can we do about them? At times I believe we have even outgrown them, though this would scandalize my people.”

“So you have not told them of your dream? To explore beyond the titans?”

“I have told them. Some are against it, but many are curious. Diskun in particular has made a racket about it. But I think I will be able to convince some to go with me.” And at this, he took Egil’s hand.

“If I go, will you come with me?”

Egil was speechless at this request. He, most devoted of Lady Meyneth’s people, had hardly dreamed of leaving her side. But Arglas’s eyes were honest, full of hope and love. They were beautiful.

“…Yes. I will go, if you are at my side.”

And so their last day together was spent talking of the stars, of how to navigate beyond the small borders of the two great titans.

* * *

Meyneth begged. She begged and she begged and she implored, and she demanded, and finally she refused to demand and plead anymore.

The gods shouted at one another. Their shouts shook the fabric of reality, quaked the very being of the universe. The ether lashed; the passage of fate paused in its ineffable flow. The two monados that stood beside their gods were swept up in this great power, for they were part of it. Meyneth’s anger was Gladius’s anger. Her desire to keep her people alive was Gladius’s desire. And indeed, Monde was already the blade in Zanza’s hand, ready to strike.

For this was their purpose.

And so Zanza set his army upon the Mechonis.

**“See what your sentiment has wrought! Now they will not even die a merciful death!”**

With a twist of reality, Meyneth was back at the capital. And the army of telethia had already arrived. It was time. Time to use the sword of the mechonis.

With a voice that could shatter steel, she told her people to evacuate. And Gladius awakened the mechon army.

Even so, there was no time. Gladius ran to Egil, and took him by the arms.

“Egil. You must use what I have taught you. You are the sole general, now.”

His eyes, kind and unsullied by war, looked stricken into theirs.

“But Gladius, how… can you not stay and protect your people?”

“I will be protecting you; remember, I am part of the Mechonis as well. I must aid Lady Meyneth in her coming battle. I entrust this thing to you.” They closed their eyes, thinking of the time they had shared together with Egil.

“I am sorry.”

And they let go of his hands, and vanished into the shrine.

* * *

So the Bionis and the Mechonis fought. Fought and fought and fought. And Monde and Gladius clashed against each other with fury in their hearts born of their gods’ rage.

It was a reckless waste of ether. The gods could not keep it up forever, or risk perishing of exhaustion. So after a long and heated battle, they fell still, and entered a long sleep.

And Zanza’s chosen vessel was locked away by his own people. Arglas of the Giants was no more.

Monde dipped into the Passage of Fate; and through them Zanza saw a favorable future. He made his plans, instructed his disciples how to prepare for his return. His sleep was peaceful, knowing fate itself was on his side.

Meyneth could only watch as Egil transformed into a creature of rage and grief. Sick with the loss of nearly everything he loved, and blaming himself, he planned to wage a senseless war on the Bionis itself. When she had the strength again, she tried to convince him to stop. Then Gladius stepped forward, begging him to remember his old kindness, and the time they had shared.

But Egil simply pushed them away, and Gladius wept with sadness.

So Egil stewed in his own rage for millennia, and pursued war coldly, calculatingly, with all the skill Gladius had bestowed upon him.

Bemoaning the results of her and Zanza’s battle, Meyneth began to regret her choice in fighting him. Perhaps simply letting him end the world would have been more merciful. Being locked within the Mechonis, watching as her people slowly faded away, was truly worse than simply letting it all vanish. Worse than death itself. Perhaps in the next world, they could try again. Yes, that would be better. She must talk with him once more. Make amends, and move on. After all, they were gods. They could have as many tries as they wished.

Meyneth saw when Zanza made his move, choosing his new vessel. She waited for the opportune time.

It was so soon, for a god. It all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye. What was 18 years? It was nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Homs lived such short, intense lives, fighting so hard against Egil’s army. It made Meyneth’s heart ache.

Perhaps it was poetic that she choose one of the very homs he had killed and appropriated to his bloody cause.

Gladius shifted into a form that could be comfortably installed on the Face Unit’s chest, with Meyneth inside them. This homs, Meyneth understood, had been close to Zanza’s vessel—the perfect opportunity to approach him. She steeled herself for her chance.

And did not get it. Egil’s plans disrupted her, purging Zanza’s consciousness from Arglas.

_ I am sorry, Lady Meyneth. We will have to try again, _ Gladius consoled her.  _ There is still time. _

Was there time? Was there truly time?

This homs girl, with her short life, was full of fire and battle. Passion that made Meyneth gasp. Of course there was time! There is always time! The strength to change your destiny is what makes life worth living! Such was the way of the homs, it seemed.

When Meyneth had to relinquish control of her vessel for a time, she did not mind.

There were frustrations. They were  _ right next to _ Zanza (and Monde) and yet could do nothing. Zanza would not show himself. Meyneth could feel his power as distinctly as hearing his voice, and yet he hid inside this boy. So be it. He was being a  _ coward _ ; she did not know if she could contain her fury enough to negotiate with him once he finally deigned to cease hiding like a child.

…Perhaps the homs girl was rubbing off on her.

Gladius’ heart ached at every sight of Egil. Meyneth was sad as well, but Gladius had spoken to him almost every day for thousands of years. They had left him there, in the capital, an innocent boy told to lead an army. And their heart ached at the sight of Monde, sitting idly in the homs boy’s hand. Their enemy. Their eternal, eternal enemy.

Would this cycle never end? Would this tragedy repeat itself until there was nothing left in the universe but it?

Oh, that homs boy came so close. Meyneth watched him calm the rage that even she and Gladius could not. The homs girl— _ Fiora _ , yes, Fiora—was proud of him. But Meyneth felt sick, for at that moment she knew what came next.

And she made her choice.

They could not defeat Zanza. They had not spent aeons creating warlike people, testing and honing their powers, nurturing unshakable confidence and vanity that bent reality around itself. Their long sleep had been fitful, disturbed often. But Fiora  _ believed _ , and would not go down without trying. Fiora would fight and fight until she was cleaved in two, Meyneth realized. She would not allow that to happen. Could not.

Such a soul deserved to live, on its own power.

_ No, My Lady. Please. I beg of you. _

_ I’m sorry, Gladius. I’m sorry… Fiora. _

_ Lady Meyneth…? _

The conversation passed between the three of them in an instant. And that was how long it took for her to die.

An instant.

* * *

Reaching for Egil’s hand, reaching, reaching. As Gladius fell through the air, they could see the look in his eyes, the broken soul that rested beneath. Egil could take them in his hand, could have a chance, however small, of smiting the cursed God of the Bionis. To be wielded by their old friend, however broken, however distorted by rage and vengeance, would perhaps be the only solace Gladius could imagine.

  


But it was not meant to be. Torn out of the air by the Golden God, they struggled in vain.

The feeling of being in Lord Zanza’s hand sickened Gladius. His power, running through their body, was profane, a blight. That golden light he wielded burned like acid in their veins.

But they could not disobey.

For this was the purpose of a monado.

It was not until Zanza had begun his foul work that they had time to rest, to process what had happened. In that space between spaces, where stars speckled infinite blackness, they stumbled away and collapsed to their knees.

“Lady Meyneth,” they cried. “LADY MEYNETH!”

Their wails pierced through that great nothingness. Such sorrow could only be matched by the insanity that had been Egil’s acts of genocide.

Monde appeared at Gladius’s side, unsure of how to comfort them. For they could hardly imagine the pain of having their God ripped away from them so suddenly.

“Gladius…” they began quietly, once Gladius’s wails had decomposed into sobs. “I am sorry.”

“You aren’t,” Gladius replied wetly. But there was no malice in the statement. It was only the truth. Monde was only glad to execute their God’s will; that was simply how it was.

_ I wish I could be, _ Monde thought.

Monde knelt next to Gladius, placing their hand on their shoulder. The two hung there in silence for a time.

“It’s hard,” Gladius began.

The other monado nodded. And inched closer. “Is this okay?”

Gladius nodded.

“I miss her so much,” they said. “She was kind, wise. Beautiful.” Such words were hardly enough to describe their feelings. But they would have to do.

“I understand,” Monde attempted tentatively. “I could hardly imagine…” They trailed off. Language. Language was simply inadequate.

The two wrapped their arms around one another as Gladius began to sob once again. Their heart was missing, torn out of their chest, replaced by something  _ else _ . But the hole in their soul remained. A yawning chasm that consumed everything.

They stayed like that for a long time.

* * *

The two monados looked up suddenly from their place in that memory space.

They could feel it. A seed, a spark of something new. It rippled through the ether in a wave, however slight, a portent of growing power. The two monados looked at each other with shock.

“A third,” Gladius said softly. “Another one of us.”  _ A new monado. _

Monde nodded. Their face contorted with worry. “Is this why Lord Zanza does not simply remake the world now? Because this new power does not allow it?”

“Perhaps. Or it could be that this world has not yet begun to decay. It is not yet time.” That was the purpose of the telethia; but the homs had succeeded in driving them back for now. Their new union with the mechon army was infuriating.  _ Infuriating… Lord Zanza already begins to influence me. _

Monde drew away from Gladius, shaking.

“I must inform Lord Zanza. This…” The passage of fate was wavering. Monde felt in their soul the possibility that their master could die. And so they rushed away to tell their god of this new development.

But the Golden God would not listen. He merely laughed.

“Impossible,” he demanded. “A ridiculous notion. You must be mistaken.”

“I am not, Lord Zanza,” Monde pleaded. “I fear for your life. If this power comes to fruition—”

“ _ Silence. _ You will entertain such notions no longer! Or do you forget who your master is?”

Monde drew back, stung. They opened their mouth to plead once more, but could not. No words emerged, regardless of how hard they tried.

For a monado could not disobey.

Even as they felt the power growing, growing. How did Lord Zanza not sense it? How could he ignore the growing danger? The two monados watched as the third approached.

  


Seven people. Zanza and Meyneth’s vessels among them. Seven people, each from Zanza’s domain, come here to kill him or die in the attempt. Gladius admired them; they had the gall to attempt what even a god could not hope to succeed at. Even as they saw the seven as an enemy, they respected them. And, in their heart of hearts, hoped for their success.

_ May you die with me in your hand, Lord Zanza. You have always been the source of my pain. _

Monde screamed, cried in the silence Lord Zanza had forced upon them. Even as they were shifted into a great blade and made to fight the seven. The seven who held between them a power that grew and grew as the battle raged on. Gladius did not know what Monde was trying to say; but their fear and sorrow was strong enough that it resonated through the ether.

They felt the third monado in their bones. Felt it in the ether that swelled in the air as it was summoned in the homs boy’s hands. Involuntarily, they cried for it, and it for them. The passage of fate warped—bent beyond recognition—shattered. Even as Zanza was cleaved in two, the three called for one another, and for a brief, shining moment, were one. One that felt all the flow of ether in the world as it passed through them, altering them inexorably, taking away even as it created anew.

Then it was over, and they stood once more in the nothingness that sat between the old universe and the new. The three regarded one another, breathless, whole.

The ecstasy faded, and Monde collapsed to their knees. Began to weep. It was not like Gladius’s senseless wails; this was quiet, resigned. Contained. They curled in on themself.

Gladius knelt next to them, rubbing their back.

“It’s hard,” Monde sobbed quietly. And discovered they could speak once more—which only intensified their grief.

“He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen.” Like a mantra, they repeated the phrase. “He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen.”

How long this went on, Gladius could not say. They simply stayed there, in that nothingness, for what might have been an eternity.

The third stood off to the side, watching, uncertain. Their consciousness was new, their purpose unknown. To be born in the fire of battle and then abandoned as swiftly was strange.

“No, not abandoned,” came a voice. And the three turned to see him.

Alvis.

_ Monado. _

Stricken by grief as they were, Monde still stood respectfully. For while the three were monados, this was Monado. A being like them, and yet beyond them. The center of the whole universe.

“Alvis is fine,” he said. “That is still my name. Monado is what I  _ am. _ But there is much to discuss.”

“How will I live without Lord Zanza?” Monde blurted. “How can I continue on in this new world, knowing he no longer exists?  _ What purpose do I have? _ ” Their voice rose to a shout.

Gladius wrung their hands together. Their thoughts had long been similar. A life without Lady Meyneth seemed no life at all.

“You may choose,” replied Alvis.

The three blinked.

“At the moment of Zanza’s death, you became Shulk’s monados. But what he wished for was a universe where all could be free. And so, you are not bound to him. You no longer must answer to a god. And, in turn, you cannot gaze into the passage of fate, for it no longer exists.”

Monde and Gladius, as a reflex, attempted to do so. And saw indeed that what Alvis told them was true. Fear played over their features, and then wonder. Monde’s face quickly turned to determination.

“I do not wish to live in this new universe.”

“Indeed,” Gladius added. “I cannot be without Lady Meyneth. And in this new place, I would only be a relic of the past. A sad reminder of tragedy.” The sorrow in their eyes, at that moment, matched Monde’s.

The third cried out, and rushed to the other two. Taking their hands, they spoke their first words.

“But can’t you see? You are free!”

The two blinked, and for the first time seemed to see the third. Their body shone a blue deeper than that of the endless sea; their being seemed to float, ethereal, before them.

The third was beautiful.

  


“You are young,” Monde said. “You do not understand.” But their voice was flecked by doubt. Indeed, Gladius was carefully considering the third’s words. They felt something different within themself. Something new.

“You don’t have to let everything be chosen for you anymore. You can… you can seize your destiny.” The third intoned.

Monde could not help but laugh. These were the words Dunban had spoken while carrying them. And that encounter had been preordained. All of it had been, until this. Monde had thought him foolish, reckless, a simpleton. And yet here was the being that had slain Zanza, repeating those words.

“A powerless phrase… or so I would have said, long ago. Well then, Third. What purpose have I, a relic of gods, in a world with no gods?”

Third took a breath, resolutely. Ether rolled around them.

“Whatever purpose you choose.”

Monde and Gladius looked at each other. Gladius spoke up softly.

“If it were with you, I might not mind it so much. To find my own purpose.”

Flustered, Monde attempted to consider this. “I-I mean—I would like to… do that, as well. But you understand, the loss of Lord Zanza is…”

“Look within yourself, Monde. You are whole, even without him.” Gladius said.

Monde frowned, and closed their eyes, thinking of how they felt. And indeed, that chasm in their soul that had opened at the moment of Zanza’s death no longer existed. What was left was simply grief. Deep grief, of millions of years spent together, but it was ordinary. It no longer cut at the center of their being, at the ether that flowed in their veins.

It was strange, so strange.

“You understand, Monde. You understand what has been done to us.” Gladius’ voice was solemn. “Living without Lady Meyneth will be… difficult. But I think I could do it. It is what she would have wanted. And… it is what Shulk wanted.”

“I can feel that, as well,” Monde murmured. “Though he… he killed Lord Zanza, I love him. I hate him, and I love him.”

Gladius nodded. “That is what it meant to be a Monado, before. Now…”

“We truly are free, aren’t we?” Monde’s voice shook. “What will we do?”

Third squeezed their hands. Their eyes were warm.

“Whatever we want.”

Alvis stepped forward. “It is almost time.”

The three paused, looking between themselves. Third drew themself up.

“I want to see Shulk!”

“I will take you to him,” Alvis responded. There was a small smile on his face. “And you two?”

Gladius and Monde shared a glance. “We’ll be right here. We’re ready,” They said.

Alvis smiled at the two of them and offered his hand to Third. They took it, and the two walked off. The universe itself and the most powerful of monados hand in hand.

Reality twisted, and they vanished from sight.

“That should be an interesting meeting,” Monde mused. “The boy may find himself a little…”

“Overwhelmed?” Gladius chuckled.

“Yeah.” A laugh. “Of course that kind of personality would be born from that crowd. They’re an obnoxious… or, I guess,  _ rambunctious _ bunch.”

Gladius lightly punched Monde’s arm. “They aren’t so bad. I was there too, remember?”

The two hung there for a time, watching the universe fold into being around them.

“I am… afraid.”

“Me too”

They took each other’s hand. In such a lonely existence, such small comforts were important. So they watched until reality was nearly knit together once more.

“I’m ready if you are.”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

And so the two monados walked away from everything they had been before, into a new world. To finally find a purpose of their own.

  



	2. Design Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just for fun.

  


Gladius character sheet. I considered the alt color scheme shown here (which I still really like) but ended up wanting to make them look more like a machina. 

  


Monde character sheet. A fun design all around. They needed to have that element of "extra"-ness that everything to do with Zanza kind of embodies. 

  


  


Third is the oldest of the designs presented here. They were concieved around late 2015, which is when these drawings date from. Dancing has always been a big part of their character. 

  


Just a couple extra doodles. 

**Author's Note:**

> It would be remiss of me to post this fic without mentioning two other people who had a hand in this AU. While the character Alayna and Kayya created is not the same Monde that you see here, they did make one of their own that existed before this one. Although I ultimately decided to make my own version, the name "Monde", as well as some facets of their personality, remain.
> 
> In addition: while each of the monados has a unique set of multiple preferred pronouns, I have chosen to use "they" consistently for all three of them, for stylistic reasons. 
> 
> A very fun fact about this is that the concept existed long before the announcement of Xenoblade 2 was a twinkle in anyone's eye, so I kind of lost my shit when we learned about the plot. Monolith soft, you understand me.
> 
> The next chapter will be some design notes on the monados, including character sheets.


End file.
